


Who said the world wasn't ours?

by jijal



Category: BTOB
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jijal/pseuds/jijal
Summary: After being dragged to a strip club to get over his break-up, Sungjae falls for a dancer.And in their own ways, they teach each other how to trust again.
Relationships: Lee Minhyuk/Yook Sungjae
Comments: 15
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this story deals with themes like trust (issues), self-worth and consent; it contains mentions/discussions of sex with dubious consent (or rape, depending on your definition of it. personally, im not sure which one it really is, im sorry) in later chapters but no graphic depictions or flashbacks. please keep that in mind if you decide to read this story. explicit warnings will be given at the beginning of the specific chapters.

Hyunsik gets them a table near the entrance and wastes no time in ordering drinks for the three of them once they’re sat down. Sungjae, having been dragged here against his will, doesn’t have all that much cash to spare, and he’s heard Changsub complain about having to tip dancers he doesn’t pay attention to simply because they’re front row, so sitting all the way at the back seems like a good decision on Hyunsik's part. It’s also less direct, less personal, if anything in this nightclub is truly personal to begin with, and less overwhelming for an insecure first-timer like Sungjae.

As Changsub and Hyunsik talk about the waiter that took their order and that has moved from their table onto the next one by now, Sungjae decides to shift his focus from the stained table cloth he’s been staring at to the stage at the centre of the room, catching the last few seconds of a muscly guy in a pair of black shorts, as ridiculously tight as it is short, finishing his performance. Sungjae would be lying if he said the man wasn't handsome, or that he wasn't enjoying the view, but it’s _awkward_ to have someone dance almost completely naked in front of him, about two dozen pairs of eyes fixed on them, pairs of eyes of guys who are generous enough to hand out tips when the song is over. The shitty club music blaring from the speakers gets drowned out by enthusiastic cheers scattered around the room, welcoming a new stripper on stage as soon as the previous one is done, and encouraging him to take just one more piece of clothing off. Even though they’re all wearing close to nothing to begin with.

Sungjae snaps out of his thoughts when someone leans over the table in front of him, and he looks up at tanned, glowing skin, slightly messy, dark red hair and one of the most beautiful side profiles he’s ever seen. The new waiter mumbles a gentle _here you go_ as he puts Sungjae’s drink down last. He gives him a warm smile, their eyes meet, and Sungjae forgets how to breathe. Time freezes, and something inside him comes alive, but before he realises, the waiter’s left as quickly as he came, giving a hint of a bow directed at their table and carrying the now empty tray he balanced the drinks on back to the bar at the other end of the room.

He’s wearing tight black shorts like the dancers performing on stage, and a leather harness that barely covers anything at all and that looks so uncomfortable Sungjae feels bad he probably has to wear it for hours on end.

He watches him take a sip from his own drink, leaning back against the bar counter and letting his gaze wander from one table to the next, and Sungjae tears his eyes away at the speed of light — just in time to notice Hyunsik’s obvious side glance at him.

"You like him?" he asks, nudging Sungjae in the ribs while nodding in the direction of the waiter, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious who he’s talking about.

“Oh, Sungjae-yah,” Changsub sing-songs from next to Hyunsik, having caught on within a second. “Good choice. Get a room with him. Treat yourself.”

The words make Sungjae's stomach do a flip.

“He’s a waiter,” he says, desperate to force down the heat climbing up his neck into his cheeks at the mere thought of talking to him, let alone getting a lap dance for an endless twenty minutes in a secluded, dirty back room.

“He’s _shirtless_ ,” Changsub shoots back, and as if Sungjae needed any more confirmation of what he feared to be true, Hyunsik offers a sober explanation.

“They’re all strippers, you know. They take turns dancing and waiting tables, but you can pay any of them for a room whenever you want.”

"Also, I heard he's one of the slutty ones. Will do anything for extra tips,” Changsub adds, and Sungjae wishes he hadn’t.

“I don’t have that kind of money," he mutters, grasping at straws for an excuse that’ll allow him to get out of this situation. Making him come here in the first place was asking a lot of him, even if Changsub and Hyunsik are convinced it’s for Sungjae’s own good, but sending him off all on his own in a place like this makes him question why he’s even friends with the two of them.

"I'm paying,” Hyunsik says without hesitation.

“Hyung, no. That’s _your_ money—,”

"It's fine. It’s your first time here. I want you to have a good time."

“But— but what do you even do in those—?” Sungjae tries again, not yet ready to accept that he’s running out of things to say.

“You’ll see. Relax,” Changsub cuts him off, not the tiniest bit sympathetic to Sungjae’s apprehension. “Don’t shit your pants. You’re thinking too much.”

“No, I just don’t— I don’t want, like, a lap dance or whatever. I’m not…—“

Ignoring Sungjae’s futile protest, Changsub turns around to the bar and signals Sungjae’s newly established crush to come over, and Sungjae goes quiet in defeat, burying his face in his hands in a mixture of despair, embarrassment and hope that it might actually keep him from being noticed.

“What can I do for you?”

The waiter’s soft voice has Sungjae look up again, his cheeks about a second from catching on fire, if the heat was any indication.

“Please make him relax. He needs it,” Hyunsik says, patting Sungjae on the shoulder, while he hands over way more money than Sungjae dares to count. The waiter takes the notes with a small, humble bow and tucks them into his shorts, and directs his full attention onto Sungjae.

”Come with me,” he says without wasting a second, a confident smile on his lips, and Sungjae's heart skips a beat at the cute, cheeky wink that follows, every fibre in his body rebelling as he slowly moves to get up from his chair. He shoots Changsub and Hyunsik one last death glare over his shoulder as he follows him out of the dark, stuffy room, away from the awful, headache-inducing music, up a narrow set of stairs and into an equally as poorly lit hallway, that has him wonder how exactly he manages to make out the correct room for them to disappear into. They slip inside, and, taking in the minimal furniture around him, Sungjae sits down on the big, black sofa at the end of the small room, despite the slight feeling of disgust coming up as he recalls Changsub’s comments from earlier. His heart pounding at record speed against his ribcage, he silently watches the waiter-turned-dancer get a bottle of champagne from the little fridge and pour each of them a generous glass.

"So," he says, handing Sungjae his glass and sitting down next to him, knees almost brushing but not quite. “Something tells me you aren’t quite an avid strip club goer.”

Sungjae lets out a huff, and takes a quick moment to look at the dancer’s face from up-close for the first time. The lights in the room are dimmed, but they allow him to take in his features, from the hints of colour around his eyes, to the sheen of glitter accentuating the bridge of his nose and his cheek bones, and his lips and the naturally curled corners.

He’s _pretty_.

But of course he is.

Sungjae clears his throat.

“Uhm, my, my friends made me come here. They wanted to help me get my mind off... off things,” he says, hoping his vague answer suffices as an explanation and downing the entire glass of champagne at the memory of the rather serious talk him and Hyunsik had in the afternoon.

Hyunsik didn’t have any ill intentions when he asked Sungjae if he’d want to get out of the apartment for the night; however, when Changsub chimed in and insisted Sungjae tag along to their go-to strip club for some, according to him, much needed distraction, and for Sungjae to forget about _the asshole_ for a few hours, who _, by the way, wasn't worth any of Sungjae’s time_ , he’d found himself unable to get out of the situation. He tried his best to assure them that he was dealing just fine and would rather stay in and watch a movie with them, but Changsub wouldn’t listen, and Hyunsik didn’t stop him from pestering Sungjae until he gave in, either. Freshly showered and already missing his cosy pair of sweatpants, they left the apartment fifteen minutes later.

It only really dawned on Sungjae what he'd agreed to when they were in the taxi on their way to the club and, as he has yet to perfect his dive out of a moving car, he had no choice but to let it happen and hope for lightning to strike him before they would be able to make it from the car to the club entrance.

Needless to say, it didn’t.

"A break-up?” the dancer asks, his expression softening.

Sungjae nods. "But I won't bore you with that, don’t worry. I know you’re not a shrink.”

Much to his surprise, the dancer breaks out into a small, honest chuckle, the mysterious facade he’d put on already cracking.

“You know, a lot of people come here to talk, actually.”

“Oh, about— about what?” Sungjae stammers, taken aback. Sure, he’s seen the scenes play out in movies, or porn, of middle aged, grumpy men venting and complaining about their problems to strippers, but he would’ve never thought it actually happened in real life.

“All kinds of things,” the dancer explains matter-of-factly. “About problems with their partner, their family, their boss. Or they just need someone to tell them things will be okay. I don’t mind. If it helps someone get through a difficult time, I’m happy to listen.”

Sungjae nods along, and averts his gaze down to his hands. He does feel oddly comfortable — in this shady, secluded room somewhere in Itaewon, but at the same time, nowhere in particular, and around the dancer. Like he was an old friend, that Sungjae could confide in. Like he could tell him he murdered someone last week, and he wouldn't bat an eye.

”What I’m trying to say is, if you want, you can tell me about it,” the dancer goes on, awfully observant and sensitive to Sungjae’s hesitation to open up. “It's really not that weird. Sometimes it's easier to be open about personal struggles with a stranger than with friends.”

They met merely five minutes ago, but something about him makes Sungjae feel safe, and like his feelings might be more than simply dismissible.

“I—,” Sungjae breathes out, but stops himself and the waterfall of words ready to spill past his lips without care. He tries to collect his thoughts, instead of jumping in head first like he usually does.

“Take your time,” the dancer says, the gentleness in his voice tugging at Sungjae’s heartstrings in the strangest of ways. He’s never felt anything like this before, a sense of comfort in his vulnerability, and maybe it shouldn’t be, but it’s nice. Sungjae wants to drown every single hint of doubt and worry in it.

“I was in a relationship for almost two years,” he begins, and ignores that ominous feeling of dread building up inside of him at all the memories coming to the surface. “I was living together with my boyfriend, and things were going okay between us. But then one day, I came home early from work and walked in on him and someone else, and— and I don’t know if the guy he was with knew or not, but he left, and I— I didn’t wanna make a scene. I really didn’t. But my boyfriend wasn’t even sorry. He didn’t apologise, or try to talk himself out of it. He just blamed me, and said I shouldn’t have expected anything different.”

A bitter smile creeps up Sungjae’s lips, the words from that night still too vivid inside his mind, ringing in his ears. That cold, almost lifeless voice.

“It turned into a fight, and I broke up with him, and moved in with my friend. But at some point what my boyfriend said started to get to me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it and,” Sungjae falters, shaking his head in embarrassment. “One night, it got really bad. I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone else, and I wanted to go and apologise and make up with him, but my friends wouldn’t let me leave the apartment. They made me stay and… and managed to talk some sense into me."

He conveniently leaves out the part where he broke down crying, Changsub blocking the door as soon as he’d noticed him getting ready to leave and Hyunsik’s strong iron grip around his arm to hold him back. It felt downright cruel at the time, like the whole world was conspiring against him, and no amount of begging to let him go fix the one thing he thought he couldn’t live without got through to them. No matter how upset he was, the endless amount of tears trickling down his chin had no effect on either of them.

“I’m glad you found your way out of that relationship,” the dancer says, softly pulling Sungjae out of his thoughts back down to earth. “But it’s not been that long, has it?”

Sungjae shakes his head.

“About two months," he says, and then, “It’s not getting over _him_ that’s hard, I think. I don’t miss him anymore. But the fact that he cheated on me for a reason… I kinda... get it. Some part of me understands. Why he did it.”

“Oh no," the stripper protests. “No, no, no. Whatever problems there were between the two of you, he should’ve talked to you about it. Going behind your back like that, that’s horrible.”

“We did talk. Sometimes. But it never went anywhere, you know,” Sungjae mumbles, digging his nails into the palm of his hand and staring at the marks they leave. “I don’t think they were problems you can fix.”

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. But that guy didn’t deserve you, and you deserve someone who treats you with respect and is willing to work on a relationship when things get hard. It can’t all be sunshine and roses all the time. And that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Sungjae says, and finally looks up to meet the dancer's eyes again; the mischievous glint and the flirtatious smile are gone, replaced by a more serious, somewhat worn down expression. He immediately feels bad for ruining the mood with his sob story, when there are so many other things to talk about, and his lively, friendly features lit up by that pretty smile of his suit the dancer so much more. 

“Uhm, do you have a… boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Sungjae changes the topic, and to his relief, the dancer seems happy to snap out of it, as well. The frown wiped off his face in the blink of an eye and his bright, attentive eyes filled with life again.

“Neither. I’m pretty busy and constantly around people, anyway, so I’m not really in need of a relationship right now.”

Sungjae would be lying if he said he hadn’t anticipated a simple, easy yes as an answer. The dancer probably has guys lined up waiting for him to give them any kind of attention in and outside of work, and for someone as open and confident as him to not take advantage of that— Sungjae isn’t sure why he wouldn’t. But maybe that says more about him than the dancer, after all.

“So you work here everyday?"

“No, only on weekends. I work full-time as a nursery school teacher during the week,” he says, visibly amused at the way Sungjae's eyes go wide in surprise. Because out of anything he could have said, that was about the last thing Sungjae expected to hear.

“Oh, wow,” is all he can come up with, lost for words eventually.

He can’t shake that feeling that the more answers the dancer gives, the more questions he wants to ask; every word coming out of his mouth more addicting than the last. He wants to ask about how he became a stripper, how exactly he ended up in an environment as shady as the very club they’re in, how he manages to work two jobs at the same time and not go completely crazy and how he has the energy and patience to put up with a group of loud, energetic children all day, and handsy, drunk customers all night. He wants to know what it’s like to showcase himself like he does to a room filled with strangers watching his every move, hungry eyes fixed on him and eating up every inch of his exposed skin, and how he manages to make every single one of those people feel special and appreciated and wanted in a way no one else can, so much that they can’t help but come back and spend their hard earned money on half an hour with him. He wants to know what his hobbies are, his favourite hangover food and if he pours the milk first; if his job can be a burden on any of his relationships, or if it’s something he’s proud of and would tell his future children about.

But more than anything else, there is one thing Sungjae is dying to know.

“What’s your name?”

The question slips out before he can think it over, and the immediate fear that it might be something unusual to ask a stripper, out of all people, is confirmed as the dancer’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, tiny bits of glitter catching the reflection of the dim lights above them.

“Minhyuk,” he says, and the first thought that pops into Sungjae’s head is how it's an awfully ordinary name for someone like him.

“You look disappointed,” he adds, before Sungjae can say anything in response, the dancer biting back a grin at the hint of confusion that must have ghosted over Sungjae’s face.

“Don’t strippers have, like, fake names?” 

Which, that is most likely the dumbest thing he could have said in response, but to his relief, Minhyuk doesn’t seem to mind, and just gives a weak chuckle.

“Well, that’s not what you wanted to hear, was it?” he asks back. “I do have a stage name, but I don't use it much anymore.”

Sungjae doesn’t even have time to ponder about what Minhyuk meant by any of that, because he shoots a question right back at him.

"What's _your_ name?” he asks, his eyes as attentive as ever, boring right into Sungjae’s.

"Sungjae."

“Sungjae,” Minhyuk echos; the name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, and he makes it sound like a word Sungjae’s never heard before, in a language only Minhyuk speaks. “Sungjae… that's a pretty name. It suits you."

“Thank you.”

No one has ever complimented him on his name before, and Sungjae notices with horror that he can’t tell if Minhyuk’s being sincere, or simply professional. If he’s going the extra mile to make Sungjae feel like he’s the only person in the world because it’s what he does, or because, in a way, right now, he is. He can’t for the life of him figure him out — and Minhyuk has made it abundantly clear that he’s not planning to give Sungjae a chance to. Instead, he puts a hand on Sungjae's thigh, too high up his leg to be accidental, and Sungjae oh so slightly panics.

“I won’t dance for you, if you don’t want me to,” Minhyuk murmurs, still picking up the smallest of hints and details about Sungjae, as if he was looking at him through a microscope, “but let’s loosen up a bit.”

Sungjae gulps, and his heart rate picks up at the change of tone.

“Okay,” he brings out, although he isn’t sure what exactly he’s saying yes to.

“You’re blushing,” Minhyuk notes, drawing small, small circles into Sungjae’s jeans with his thumb.

“I’m just— just a little nervous. Sorry,” Sungjae mumbles, wiping his hands dry on the couch. The air around them seems to have become twenty degrees hotter within the last thirty seconds alone, and he can’t help but feel like it’s only going to get worse.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

Minhyuk playfully narrows his eyes at him. “You look awfully young.” 

"Changsub hyung wouldn't have taken me here if I was underage. Trust me,” Sungjae mutters, and Minhyuk hums in his throat in response, that familiar glint back in his eyes and impossible not to notice. 

“Your friend?”

He shifts, leans in until the distance between their faces is down to an inch, if that, and Sungjae feels the tips of his ears get hot. He forces out a staggering breath, and a satisfied smirk pulls up the corners of Minhyuk’s lips. It’s exactly the reaction he wants, and some part of Sungjae hates him for it. Another part is all but in awe at how easily Minhyuk can get him the way he wants him. 

“Y—yeah.”

For a long moment, Minhyuk waits, breathes, his eyes flickering down to Sungjae’s lips and back up again, and Sungjae finally closes the last bit of distance between them, lets his eyes flutter shut and feels Minhyuk’s lips against his not even a second later, that tingly sensation in his fingertips and the goosebumps covering his skin, from the back of his neck all the way down his spine.

It’s slow, and careful, in a way. Minhyuk tastes of alcohol, mints, and something else Sungjae can’t quite pinpoint, but it feels good, after all this time. Sungjae can’t remember the last time he’s been kissed like this.

But his conscience kicks in, and reminds him where he is, and he pulls back, dislodging Minhyuk’s lips.

“You— you don’t have to do this— the money— uhm…” He can’t think straight anymore, Minhyuk’s full, undivided attention on him certainly not helping him collect his thoughts, let alone produce a coherent sentence.

“No, you’re cute. I want to do this.”

“Really?” Sungjae blurts out, and his eyes go wide in shock. Minhyuk snickers, hanging his head for a moment and his shoulders shaking slightly.

“Yes,” he says, looking up at Sungjae again. “ _Really_.”

“Oh…—“

“Okay?” Minhyuk asks, his words as faint as a whisper. “Just let me…”

Sungjae breath hitches in his throat when Minhyuk straddles him without much of a warning; the sudden weight on top of him and his whole body even closer overwhelming, and everything Sungjae could have asked for. Warm, gentle hands in his hair, Minhyuk’s soft lips against his as if they never left and the heat radiating off of Minhyuk's body wrapping around him, pulling him close and pulling him in, almost addictive, and Sungjae wants to stop time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dare i say... one of the rarest of btob rarepairs... this was originally centred around a different member (can you guess who) but i realised they didnt fit the story i was going for... so i changed that, and now this is where we are :^)
> 
> this is a chaptered fic, but please, non-existent minjae enthusiast, dont expect speedy or regular updates; i have the story roughly planned and figured out, but lots of smaller stuff to fill in. coming up and writing all of that will take me some time (and probably involve countless writers blocks). however, kudos and comments are of course super duper greatly appreciated and id love for this fic to be as interesting and intriguing as the pairing is unusual.......
> 
> title inspired by love me now by john legend; [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jungsilhoon) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9094) | [btob fic exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/btob_fic_exchange)


	2. Chapter 2

Slow and careful turning into confident and unapologetic with each minute that passes, Minhyuk's hands are about everywhere. In Sungjae’s hair, on his neck, sliding down his chest and sides, and everywhere in between, restlessly feeling him up as if they couldn’t get enough of him. And even though Minhyuk is barely moving, his weight on Sungjae’s lap creates enough friction against his crotch for a reaction, no matter how hard he tells himself to shove those thoughts aside, and no matter how much he wants to ignore how _good_ Minhyuk feels on top of him.

“Sh—I'm sorry," Sungjae winces, pressing his eyes shut and letting his head hit the backrest of the couch in embarrassment. If Minhyuk hadn’t noticed before he definitely has now, a small snicker tumbling past his lips.

"Do you want me to…?” he asks, and slightly shifts his weight backwards, and Sungjae’s eyes fly open again to the sight of Minhyuk’s hands, his slender fingers moving closer to the fly of Sungjae's jeans without hesitation.

"N—No, no,” Sungjae stammers in response, his hands instinctively wrapping around Minhyuk’s. The hint of panic in his voice has Minhyuk’s head shoot up, and his eyes go wide.

Sungjae clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says, more collected. "You don’t— you don’t have to do that.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind,” Minhyuk tries again, and somehow manages to make it sound like a genuine offer, instead of him being pushy. It makes Sungjae feel bad for declining.

“It’s alright. Really.”

Silently asking himself if he just cheated Minhyuk out of his next meal, Sungjae’s mouth finds Minhyuk’s again, desperate to avoid any awkward silence or hesitation to get back into it. He does want it, his jeans are frustratingly tight at this point and his whole body is screaming to be touched, to be paid attention to, but he doesn’t want it like this, rushed in a dirty club; the thought of going any further with Minhyuk when there’s money involved strikes him as wrong, even if he can’t quite pinpoint why.

As if he could sense Sungjae getting lost in his thoughts, Minhyuk sinks down onto his lap again to demand his full attention, and Sungjae can barely suppress the moan erupting from his throat at the sensation. Obviously happy with himself and the reaction he got, Minhyuk pulls back just to snicker for a moment. He blindly finds Sungjae’s hands, lifts them up from where they were resting on the sofa, and puts them on his hips for him; telling Sungjae to do more, feel more, but also giving him the freedom to do it his way.

So, Sungjae takes a moment to feel the leather of Minhyuk’s shorts against his fingertips; takes a moment to feel the thick material, warm from Minhyuk’s body heat and perfectly hugging his waist — anything to get his mind off of how badly he wants him. It’s not enough to get him there, merely teetering on the edge of almost-but-not-quite, but he also can’t bring himself to care; because Minhyuk is too good at what he does, because it’s the first time Sungjae is this close to someone since the break-up, and even if he doesn’t need— _this_ , whatever this is, — it’s still a nice way to pass time.

A bang on the door has both of them jump, heads whipping around to where the loud sound came from. To Sungjae's relief, the door stays closed, and no one comes barging in, and Minhyuk's the first one to remember how to move.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath. He hastily gets off of Sungjae, who can barely keep up, opening and closing his mouth without a single word coming out.

“Our time’s up," Minhyuk explains, slightly out of breath. "Forgot to check. Sorry for the scare.”

He coughs out a weak laugh, shoots Sungjae a flustered smile and turns to fix his hair and the little clothes he’s wearing in the mirror hanging by the door.

Relieved that they’re not about to be kidnapped by a random stranger that has infiltrated the building, and grateful for the chance to collect himself, Sungjae lets out a shallow breath and sits up straight, tugs his clothes back into place and searches the pockets of his jeans for the little amount of money he remembers taking with him just in case.

"I wish I had more on me," he mumbles, his legs still a little shaky when he stands up and hands Minhyuk his last twenty thousand Won note. It's laughably little compared to how much Hyunsik paid for the room, but Minhyuk’s face lights up regardless.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,” he says, looking at the note and back up at Sungjae.

“Oh, and, there’s a bathroom near the entrance, if you want to sort yourself out,” he adds, tucking the money into his shorts like he did earlier, risking an obvious glance down to Sungjae’s crotch that he wishes he hadn’t noticed.

“Can I just leave through the backdoor?” he asks back, earning himself an honest chuckle from Minhyuk.

“I’m afraid not,” he says, turning to the door. He unlocks and opens it, steps aside and gestures for Sungjae to step outside first.

“It was a pleasure having you, and I’d love to see you again sometime.”

And just like that, Minhyuk’s voice is back to normal, back to business, his words rehearsed and the smile on his lips a different one than the one he had back when they first started talking; like he’s been reset to play from the beginning and Sungjae still needed convincing to buy some time with him.

Unsure what to say, or if he should say anything at all, Sungjae gives a small smile and a bow and makes his way back into the main room. He mentally retraces his steps from twenty minutes ago — although it feels more like it’s been hours since he followed Minhyuk back here — as he walks down the dim hallway and descends to ground level. He finds their table empty, and grabs his jacket from his chair to look for Changsub and Hyunsik outside, probably having a smoke, but the red neon sign off to the side reading _restrooms_ catches his attention and has him stop right in front of the exit.

A quick glance left and right, and he slips inside, locking the door behind him. The last thing he wants to do in this place is jerk off, and after a look into the big, full length mirror, Sungjae decides he looks presentable — maybe even presentable enough to get away with a boner. His lips are a little swollen and a darker shade than usual, and his cheeks still rosy, but it’s dark out, they've all had a drink or two, and he _really_ isn’t in the mood to risk catching something in this dingy bathroom.

He spots Changsub and Hyunsik having a smoke a few steps from the entrance, and any plans to be secretive about his one-on-one with Minhyuk are out the window as soon as Changsub notices him approaching them from the corners of his eyes.

"Don’t tell me he let you go like that. That's cruel.”

On second thought, it might have been foolish to hope he’d get away with it in front of ever so attentive Changsub.

"Shut up, hyung,” he mutters, pulling at his sweater in a weak attempt to cover his crotch, but Changsub doesn’t seem all that interested in laughing at him, anyway.

“How was he?” he asks, taking a long drag from what’s left of the cigarette wedged between his fingers.

“Nice,” Sungjae mumbles, struggling to string any of his thoughts and feelings into sentences, “he was really nice.”

Changsub scoffs, smoke spilling from his lips and thinning out within seconds. “But was he _good_?” 

“Oh. He, uhm. He didn’t dance for me,” Sungjae stammers back.

“You two played cards?” Changsub retorts, and Hyunsik huffs beside him, and any desire Sungjae had to be honest and let the two of them in on what happened is thrown out the window. He’s barely told them anything, but he already feels like he’s said too much.

“We… made out,” he mumbles, and Changsub’s eyes go wide in mild shock, leaning forward a little, as if he didn’t trust his own ears.

“What? Why?”

“We— We talked for a bit, and then he just— he said we should _loosen up a bit_ and then he kissed me and sat down in my lap and… and it just happened. I don’t know,” Sungjae says, and mentally curses at himself for his half-hearted Minhyuk impression. His eyes flicker back and forth between Changsub and Hyunsik, unable to read either of their faces, and slightly, just _slightly_ , getting more insecure about his experience with every second of silence that goes by.

"Did you do anything else? Did he make you pay extra?” Changsub asks, confused more than anything else now that he’s gotten over the initial shock.

“No. I gave him what I had on me, but he didn’t ask for it.”

One detail Sungjae decides to omit — for his _and_ for Minhyuk’s sake. Because Changsub would feel even more sure of himself than he already does if he knew what Minhyuk offered, or that he offered anything more than what was agreed on, at all. Changsub may have been right about him from the start, about Minhyuk being willing to go further than he’s supposed to, but Sungjae won’t let Changsub bask in the satisfaction of being proven right. The way he talks about Minhyuk makes it abundantly clear how lowly he thinks of him, and Sungjae thinks Minhyuk deserves better — even if he probably doesn’t even care what Changsub, or anyone for that matter, thinks about him.

And, God knows, Changsub would be even more obnoxious than he already is after the few drinks he must have had while Sungjae was away.

“He must’ve liked you,” Changsub mutters, and Sungjae feels downright stupid for the way it makes his heart skip a beat. It’s just another throw-away line, after all. Something Changsub won’t remember having said in a week’s time, and, realistically, he can’t know. Of course not, Sungjae thinks. He should just stop overthinking. _Stop thinking_.

“Strippers don’t just do things for free, out of their kindness of their hearts,” Changsub adds, and Hyunsik finally comes to life next to him.

"I don't think I'd ever kiss a stripper,” he chimes in, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. "Who knows how many guys they blow a night.”

Changsub snorts at the remark, pushing himself off the wall and dropping his cigarette bud to the ground. “You think they’d eat ass?” he asks, somewhere between a serious question and a joke, and Sungjae watches him put it out with his foot, rubbing it into the asphalt with the sole of his shoe.

“If you have the money…,” Hyunsik trails off, taking one last drag of his cigarette and flicking it to the ground, as well. He doesn’t sound as condescending as Changsub did, but the whole conversation makes Sungjae feel sick to his stomach; pulled down from cloud nine with force and landing face first on concrete, but there’s no pain. Just this uneasy feeling, the urge to leave and pretend he never came outside to talk to them in the first place. But Sungjae is frozen in place, watching Changsub and Hyunsik slowly make their way back to the entrance of the club, and unable to get his limbs to move and follow them. The last thing he wants is to go back inside with them, and listen to any more of Changsub’s condescending comments.

“Hey, I’ll— I think I’ll go home,” he brings out, having both of them turn around to look at him. If they heard the insecure tremble in his voice, they are considerate enough to not point it out.

“Why? It’s not even midnight,” Changsub says, pulling back the sleeve of his jacket to have a look at his watch, and Hyunsik takes a step towards Sungjae.

“Are you not feeling well?” he asks, genuine worry colouring his voice, but Sungjae quickly waves him off.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” he says, giving a smile that costs him more than it should. “I’ll take the subway home.”

“Alright,” Hyunsik mumbles, even though he’s obviously unconvinced. “See you later, okay?”

“Yeah, have fun.”

With a last wave at the two of them, Sungjae turns around and heads in the direction he suspects a subway station. He’s familiar enough with Itaewon and the more popular spots that are brimming with life on a regular Saturday night, but not its darker corners and narrow alleyways. People only ever end up here if they’re lost, or so drunk they need to throw up as they stagger from one club to the next, and Sungjae sighs a small sigh of relief when he’s found his way to the loud, bustling main street — and with it the subway.

He’s still buzzing by the time he gets home, but the quiet of Hyunsik’s apartment gives way to all the thoughts Sungjae didn’t get to think amidst the blur of voices and music in the club. He finally gets the relief his body has been begging for in the shower, the last few minutes with Minhyuk on his lap replaying inside his head on endless loop. The stream washes it all away within a few seconds, gone like nothing ever happened in the blink of an eye, but the memories persist. Minhyuk is burned into his brain, his face, his warmth, the sound of his voice, and the taste of his lips, and Sungjae makes a deal with himself to never bring up Minhyuk, or anything about tonight, again.

Inevitably tied to everything good about the evening is how quickly it all slipped away. It makes Sungjae feel silly, and like he’s being way too dramatic — as always. For being as disheartened as he was by Changsub’s comments, for letting them get to him at all. He shouldn’t care what they think; he had a great time, Minhyuk made him feel safe and accepted and understood, and Sungjae hadn’t realised he hadn’t really felt like that in a long time, or that he needed to have a conversation that personal, and intimate, with a complete stranger.

Sungjae’s still awake when Hyunsik comes home, the sound of the heavy front door being shut traveling through the apartment even though Hyunsik always tries his best to close it as quietly as possible. Their eyes meet when Hyunsik walks into the living room with muffled steps, Sungjae lazing around on the sofa and sitting up to make space for him.

“I’m sorry for dragging you along,” is the first thing Hyunsik says, sliding the jacket off his shoulders and draping it over the armrest of the couch. “I thought it’d be a good idea, but…”

He trails off, and plumps down next to Sungjae. Knowing Hyunsik, he’s probably been thinking about this the entire way home, and judging by the look Hyunsik gave him before he left, he was going to bring this up the first chance he’d get.

Sungjae can’t say he’s surprised.

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “I had a good time.”

“Okay, I’m glad,” Hyunsik replies, a soft, tired groan escaping his lips as he leans back and rests his head against the backrest. Sungjae watches the even rise and fall of his chest, and suppresses the urge to talk despite the thousand things he wants to say and tell Hyunsik about. He swore himself he wouldn’t.

He has every reason not to.

“Why are you still up, by the way?” Hyunsik mumbles, his raspy voice pulling Sungjae out of his thoughts. “I thought you’d be asleep by the time I get back.”

He rubs at his eyes, and half-heartedly bites back a yawn.

“I’m not that tired,” Sungjae says, and without missing a beat, Hyunsik asks, “Did something happen at the club?”

“No, not really. I just… had a lot to think about?”

Sungjae didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but he also can’t say it isn’t one. It’s a question and a lie. Somehow both, and somehow something in-between. He didn’t know he needed the space, the silence of Hyunsik’s empty apartment to think, even more than he already did tonight, at least it certainly wasn’t the reason he left. But Hyunsik doesn't need to know.

Hyunsik slightly cocks his head to the side. “Like what?”

“The whole evening. And… and Minhyuk... hyung.”

The honorific feels weird, _tasted_ weird on Sungjae’s tongue as he hesitantly let it slip past his lips. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he has no time to ponder, as Hyunsik’s sleepy haze is slowly chased away by the curiosity sparked by Sungjae’s shy, almost cryptic answers.

“Was that the stripper…—?” Hyunsik asks, more confused than intrigued the more he finds out. Sungjae nods before he can finish the question. "He told you his name?"

"Is that weird?” Sungjae asks back.

“N—no, no,” Hyunsik lies, so obviously lies to make Sungjae feel normal. But he’s in no mood to really think about it, or call Hyunsik out on it. “All that matters is that you had fun, and got some distraction. That’s what those clubs are for.”

“Actually, I—,” Sungjae stops himself, just for a second. Barely long enough for his conscience to fully kick in before his heart, his gut, every single cell down to its last atom says _fuck it_ , and he _unstops_. “We talked about… about what happened. He asked why I came, and I told him about the break-up, and everything. Was that…— Should I have not told him about it?”

“I mean, a lot of guys vent to strippers, you know? And it’s not like you’re gonna see him again, so…,” Hyunsik says, the small, comforting smile he gives a stark contrast to the hole he just so casually, unknowingly punched into Sungjae’s stomach.

“He was just so… nice, and understanding,” he mumbles, and pretends Hyunsik didn’t say what hesaid. Instead, Sungjae lets himself feel the sense of comfort coming over him again, he sinks back into their own little bubble, and it makes him want to ramble on and on and on, to share with Hyunsik how gentle Minhyuk was even though no words he’d use to describe it could ever do him justice. So gentle, and yet determined to make sure Sungjae heard what he needed to hear.

But Hyunsik just puts a hand on his shoulder and shoots him that all too familiar look, the one he and Changsub have perfected over the course of the last months, the months since the break-up.

“I’m glad you two clicked.”

Sungjae wants nothing more than to escape the pity in Hyunsik’s eyes.

He fakes a yawn, and they get ready for bed. And Sungjae doesn’t even really care that he can’t fall asleep, that he can’t shut off his mind, and is left with nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling of what used to be Hyunsik’s guest room, but is now simply his room. He checks the time on his phone, squinting at the bright screen in the dark room. It’s 3:09, and he wonders if Minhyuk has gone home yet, if he’s lying in bed just like Sungjae is, or if he’s still at the club, waiting tables and jerking off other men.

Sungjae sighs, and turns onto his other side. He feels bad for him; Minhyuk seems like too nice of a person to work at a place as sketchy and dark, and in an industry as predatory and crime-ridden. And Sungjae feels bad for going to that club and contributing to everything he hates about it. Minhyuk did a good job at concealing the ugly parts, making him forget about where he was and what he was really doing, but now it’s catching up to him, and nagging at his conscience.

And if he had hoped to sleep it off, to wake up the next morning and be over every single thing keeping him up the night before, he would have been proven dead wrong with every day that came after. A whole week, Sungjae doesn’t go a day without thinking about Minhyuk. No matter how tired he is when he wakes up, how much he panics when he realises he’s running late and sprints to catch the subway or how busy and chaotic his shifts get — there’s always room, always time for Minhyuk. He’d be stupid to try and convince himself he simply missed the weekend, the hour of distraction and absolute bliss that came with it, because more than anything, he misses Minhyuk. Talking to him, and kissing him and making him laugh with silly things he has a habit of saying. And the more he tries to forget, to shove the memories and the feelings bubbling up inside of him aside, the harder to ignore they become.

But he doesn’t have the money to spare, to spend on a stripper of all things, and he wouldn’t want to ask Hyunsik for any, either. It’s only when he agrees to cover Yejin’s shift on Friday with the club at the back of his mind, that he realises he’s taken another step towards it — even if only inside his head. He wasn’t supposed to go back. He shouldn’t. An extra shift won’t be enough to get him a room, or to even pay the entrance fee and a cocktail, but now his mind is going at full speed, trying to think up a way, no matter how stupid or risky, to get another chance to talk to Minhyuk.

And sure enough, his mind finds a way like it always does.

It’s Saturday night, and if Sungjae were to be honest with himself, some part deep inside of him must have known all along that it was only a matter of time until he would give in. He’s weak like that, and asking Hyunsik if he could borrow his car to go back to the club merely a week after he was dragged there only takes double the courage he thought he had.

"What for?” Hyunsik asks, somewhat careful, somewhat wary, which Sungjae should’ve been anticipating. Hyunsik is happy to share, to give even when Sungjae feels bad for asking, but it’s late at night, and the nervousness he can’t for the life of him play down in front of Hyunsik is enough reason for anyone to become suspicious — even his closest of friends.

"I need to go back to the club,” Sungjae says, simply, and pretends like he wouldn’t give about anything to be able to look inside Hyunsik’s head and know what he’s thinking. He has to _sell_ this, after all. Even if he fears his friends’ judgement more than anything else, appearing confident means he’s halfway there to being confident. At least that’s what Instagram has been trying to make him believe.

“Sungjae—,” Hyunsik says, but Sungjae is quick to cut him off.

“I’ll be home by the time you need to leave in the morning, I promise,” he says, keen to dodge any objections by Hyunsik. “I just… I _have_ to go.”

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Hyunsik tries again.

“My shift starts at ten, I’ll be fine,” Sungjae dismisses his concerns, and earns himself a small, resigned sigh from Hyunsik.

“Do you have the money?”

“Yeah. I have enough,” Sungjae says, and Hyunsik nods in the direction of his bag hanging by the door.

"Thank you, hyung. I owe you,” Sungjae says, relief washing over him not only because Hyunsik let him borrow his car, but because he didn’t question Sungjae’s blatant lie. Hyunsik just waves him off, and watches him rummage through his bag, Sungjae quickly finding the car keys buried under Hyunsik’s wallet, his pair of fake glasses and other things he doesn’t care to make out. The keys safely stored in the pocket of his jeans, he puts on his shoes and jacket, and turns around one last time before opening the apartment door.

"Please don't tell Changsub hyung?”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” Hyunsik says. “But you know he’s going to find out sooner or later.”

Sungjae gives a quick nod, and steps out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. He’ll try not to think about it too much — or, can’t think about it too much right now, anyway. His mind is occupied with justifying what he’s about to do. It’s most likely the creepiest thing he has done in his entire life, but it’s also the only chance for him to talk to Minhyuk like a normal person without having to pay hundreds of thousands of Won, and Sungjae is willing to take it.

It’s just short of a thirty minute drive back to the club, the closer he gets the more familiar the area feels from what Sungjae remembers seeing from inside the taxi on the way there, only this time, he doesn’t get dropped off in front of the entrance. He parks his car a little further down the street, and makes sure he has a good view of the backdoor of the club, and sinks back against the driver’s seat. All he needs to do is stay awake and wait for Minhyuk finish his shift — which would feel like less of a chore if Sungjae at least knew _when_ Minhyuk’s shift ends.All he knows is that it will, and that’ll have to suffice.

He shifts in his seat, already starting to get bored and restless, and his eyelids are heavy. His day at work was way too long to stay up this late, Sungjae thinks, as he fights to keep his eyes open. The handful of annoying customers he had to deal with robbed him of any energy he’d had in the morning, and the silence of Hyunsik’s car is all too inviting, too peaceful not to fall asleep.

Sungjae startles awake at his phone buzzing in his hand, his half-hourly alarm. It’s half past one, and he turns the brightness of his phone screen up to the maximum to the point where it stings in his eyes, turns on the radio and ups the volume until falling back asleep seems impossible. He can’t let himself sleep — not until he’s talked to Minhyuk. He could’ve long left, maybe he left a minute after Sungjae dozed off, but Sungjae refuses to buy into any of his thoughts. He’s come this far, and he was only asleep for half an hour. Minhyuk can’t have left yet.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t have—

The backdoor of the club opens, and someone steps outside, and Sungjae’s heart jumps into his throat and sinks into his pants at the same time at the sight of the familiar dark red hair illuminated by the streetlights. Sungjae hastily unlocks the car door, stumbling outside and moving towards the person walking across the small employee’s parking lot.

“Excuse me! Please wait,” Sungjae says, as loudly as he can muster without it turning into full on shouting, but Minhyuk jumps regardless, his head whipping in Sungjae’s direction and his eyes going wide in a mixture of surprise and fear. Like frozen on the spot, he watches Sungjae come closer, and, to his relief, Minhyuk relaxes slightly once Sungjae is standing in front of him and he gets a chance to recognise him. His hair is still styled, but messier than usual, his face free of any make-up and glitter, and he’s wearing a big, too cosy looking hoodie that makes Sungjae want to cuddle with him on the couch after dinner in the middle of winter.

“Were you waiting here on me?” he asks, the lively, flirty tone to his voice he had invited Sungjae up to his room with replaced by a tired mumble, the confident, pretty smile and that glint in his eyes nothing but a faint memory. Sungjae feels like he’s standing in front of a completely different person, a _stranger_ , and there’s this nervousness back in his bones as if he’s meeting Minhyuk again for the first time. 

In a way, he is.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I know how this looks,” he brings out, his hands already getting clammy. “I hoped we could talk. Normal. Like this.”

Minhyuk stays quiet, just shifts his weight from one foot onto the other, and Sungjae notices his bloodshot, tired eyes, the dark circles underneath them and he’s probably been working in that dirty, stuffy club the whole evening and deserves nothing more than to finally go home and get some sleep. Sungjae immediately feels bad for being the only thing standing in the way.

“Or—or not. I should let you get going, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“No. Talk,” Minhyuk cuts him off. “It’s fine.”

There’s no friendly smile, no flirty playfulness to mask the hint of exasperation in his voice that has Sungjae burning up under Minhyuk’s gaze, but he’s made it this far, for better or for worse, and he’d be even more of a fool to not take his chance now.

“I just wanted to— uhm. I can’t stop thinking about that—that evening with you and how much I enjoyed it. You were so nice and easy to talk to and… I just thought, if—if we could grab a coffee together sometime, or something, that’d be really nice?”

His face still void of emotion, something in Minhyuk’s eyes changes at Sungjae's words, and a quiet sigh slips past his lips.

“You… you’re not the first guy to ask me out like this.”

And Sungjae's heart stops, and then it crumbles inside his chest.

“Okay. Yeah. Forget it. It’s stupid. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Get home safe,“ Sungjae brings out, the shakiness to his voice impossible to overhear. He should’ve seen this coming, or maybe he should’ve just let Hyunsik’s hesitation stop him from coming altogether.

His stomach in knots, he gives a short nod, hopes his forced attempt at a smile is enough to ensure Minhyuk he isn’t angry at him and turns around to head back to his car before the tears already building up in his eyes get a chance to fall. He deserves this, he thinks. How foolish he was to think Minhyuk would ever— _could_ ever feel something for him; how foolish he was to not for a minute consider the possibility that Minhyuk might just say _no_.

The walk back to his car must be at least twice as long as it was away from it, towards the club, and Sungjae lets out a small sob. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to walk anymore.

“Wait.” Minhyuk’s voice has Sungjae stop dead in his tracks. “Sungjae.”

A fleeting touch to his shoulder, and Sungjae finally turns around.

Minhyuk’s face is right in front of him again, but it’s blurred by tears.

“Listen, I—I get that a lot. Guys who say they want to go out with me, that they actually like me, and in the end all they see in me is free lap dances, or they get possessive and make drama at work, and I can’t— I really liked having you that night, okay, I really, really did.” Minhyuk pauses, and puts his hand on Sungjae’s arm, squeezes it softly, carefully, before it retreats again. “But I just. I can’t— I can’t make the same mistakes over and over."

“No, I—I get that this is your job. I’d never hold that against you,” Sungjae forces out past the lump in his throat, Minhyuk’s words having relit the tiny spark of hope inside of his chest. “I just want to get to know you, hyung. You haven't left my mind ever since I met you.”

The corner of Minhyuk's mouth twitches upwards, hinting a smile for a second. Sungjae almost doesn’t feel embarrassed for the honorific this time.

“That’s really sweet,” Minhyuk says, and he opens his mouth again, as if to say more — please say more, Sungjae thinks, _please_.

But Minhyuk stays quiet, and Sungjae is about ready to explode from the tension built up in his body.

“Promise I won’t ask you to strip for me in the middle of a coffeeshop.”

Minhyuk snorts, hiding his face in his hands for a moment, and it’s about the cutest thing Sungjae has ever seen anyone do. He breaks out into a weak chuckle, relieved to have broken the silence again and only mildly embarrassed for what he let escape his lips to do it. He wipes his tears away with the back of his hand, and Minhyuk’s gaze softens when he looks up at him again.

“You really know how to win people over, huh,” he teases him, and he sounds a little more like the Minhyuk Sungjae met a week ago. “A cup of coffee does sound nice.”

“And I just so happen to know the best café in all of Seoul.”

“Oh, you do?” Minhyuk asks back, feigning intrigue. “I guess you’ll have to show me.”

Sungjae nods, his mind already running wild imagining the two of them sitting at one of the small, wooden tables by the window, it’s Sungjae’s favourite spot although he never sits there. It’s nice enough to look out into the streets from when he’s mopping the floor at the end of his shift late at night, the quiet music playing in the background as his only company. He probably shouldn’t enjoy being there as much as he does, every one of his coworkers has called him weird for coming there in his free time at one point or another, but he can’t bring himself to care.

His heart is racing just at the thought of bringing Minhyuk there, and letting him into his world bit by bit, one step at a time until it all feels natural, and like it’s always been this way. His heart aches for it.

Sungjae can almost taste the coffee on his tongue.

“One condition,” Minhyuk says.

And Sungjae gulps.

 _Anything_ , he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have come to the realisation that this, or maybe my writing in general, is in essence just stream of consciousness. currently grappling with that. but i hope the fact that this is a bit of a longer chapter makes up for that + the wait
> 
> with that being said, i do want to point out the "loveable dork engaging in creepy behaviour towards his crush" trope that sungjae taps into here. while i did try to explicitly point out that what he did wasnt okay, he gets rewarded for his actions and they dont get nearly as scrutinised by minhyuk as they should have been. characters can make mistakes, but i feel like i, as a writer, failed to handle it well, simply bc i didnt really know how... but sungjae Will grow, and will come to understand consent/boundaries on a deeper level later on in the story, and i hope that that can recontextualise what he did in this chapter somewhat
> 
> as always, thank you for reading; and any kind of feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jungsilhoon) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9094) | [btob fic exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/btob_fic_exchange)


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